“Doubtful.” Logan takes a breath. “Although he does look spot-on.”
“So are Gage, Wes, and Chloe,” I muse as I take in their startling likeness. My God, Gage. My heart aches even still at the sight of my once beautiful husband with his eyes upturned toward heaven, those lips I’ve known intimately opened for not. “The snake gliding out of Chloe’s mouth is a nice touch, too.”
“Dudley is sending out a message, that’s for sure. Come on. Let’s see what else he’s saying through his party-planning Morse code.”
A laugh bubbles from me as we make our way up the steps. Logan looks far too sexy to ever be safe in his old West uniform and I’m the teen bride, ever by his side.
Melissa is watching the kids tonight. Mom said she and Tad would only stay a little while so that they could switch places before the evening was through.
My stomach keeps turning into a rock every now and again, but the contractions seem to be sporadic. Although with every new one that comes it feels as if my midsection has turned into a boulder that the hand of God Himself is squeezing. It’s not fair that women have to go through such living hell to bring another human being into this world and that the men that plant them in our bellies do so in a fit of ecstasy. It’s alarming how vastly different our roles are in the equation. But according to the good word, we have Eve to thank for that. I wonder how many of my people realize that they have my personal debacles to thank for the fact Celestra—the entire Retribution League is where it’s at today. Probably all of them. But I’m about to rectify it all.
“Look at this.” Logan nods to the doors splattered and smeared in what looks to be dried blood. Handprints dot the surface and the words,Come on in. We’re dying to see you, are slashed across it.
“I’m more than impressed already,” I say. “Logan, you don’t think this is all one big omen and the night is going to end in a bloodbath, do you?”
A dark laugh brews in his chest as his eyes light up a strange shade of fire. “Not this night, Skyla—butanight.” He sighs heavily and we head on inside. “Tonight we simply pull the pin.”
The interior of Marshall’s home is lined with bodies. It’s wall-to-wall questionable human flesh. The lights are dim and flickering, and it looks as if someone invited the fog in as well. That haunted piano of Marshall’s is playing some half-baked ragtime beat that makes it sound as if whoever is at the ivory helm is pounding their heart out and determined to break the entire unit.
Logan groans as he looks to his left, and we spot Marlena laughing caustically with an entire tribe of seventeenth century harlots. And just beyond that, I see a sight that makes my body seize. The Transfer transplants are out in force, their ghostly frames glow a pale ethereal blue, laughing and chattering away a million poltergeist miles a minute. It sounds like nothing more than a dull hum to the human ear. There’s a newly installed chandelier above in Marshall’s vaulted ceiling, covered with gossamer and swaying hard. It’s only then I note the blood slowly trickling down the walls, and I’m mildly alarmed by how my mother managed to pull this off. However, I’m not too concerned with the cleanup since I’ve seen Marshall whip up a miracle or two.
My stomach begins to seize again and I spontaneously let go of Logan’s hand. The temptation to squeeze it to death will be too strong, and in no way do I want to be removed from the party by force.
This too shall pass—in about one hellish minute.
I’m in the middle of breathing my way through it when a dapper Sector appears before us and I gasp. Marshall has donned his requisite suit and his dangerous, sexy smile—but gone is that earthly, dare I say, human demeanor about him. Instead, it’s replaced with eyes that glow like hot coals and flesh that is illuminated with a clean white light that makes him hard to look at with the naked eye.
“Marshall”—I’m quick to admonish him—“why in heaven’s name are you turning up the supernatural volume tonight?” I snatch up his hand and squeeze the ever-living hell out of it because it’s all I can do to keep from groaning. And sure enough, Marshall’s feel-good vibes course through me, stronger than morphine could ever hope to be.
“You like? I thought I’d fill this fright night with a few special touches in order to send a message to our friends. Come, let me escort you to the rear of the property. That’s where Lizbeth and I truly shined in our efforts.”
“You leave my poor mother out of this.” I meant to laugh but ended up gritting it through my teeth like a threat as my contraction tries to squeeze the life right out of me—the baby by way of my vagina and me by way of my soul leaving my body.
Marshall weaves us through the thicket of bodies, each face obscured with a ridiculous amount of caked-on makeup or a cheap mask, and every single person here is costume-clad. The girls all look adorably sexy and the guys run the spectrum from dapper to gruesome.
Outside, the fog is thicker, but there are enough space heaters spread out as far as the eye can see for it to feel downright balmy. The music pumps loud and proud through various speakers he has set out around the area and a few people are swaying to the beat.
“Oh, Marshall,” I say as my contraction thankfully subsides and I get a chance to properly take in the beauty of what I see. Normal people would have had to string up twinkle lights—miles and miles of them to garner this effect, but Marshall pulled this party trick out of the paranormal hat.
Everywhere you look there are clusters upon clusters of luminescent bright blue butterflies fluttering around the grounds, the meadow-like backyard, filling the space above the corral where that behemoth horse of Rory’s glows as bright as the moon. They fill the surrounding woods and the sky as far as we can see. And tucked in the branches of the evergreens that stand tall as celestial armed guards hang throngs of fireflies as they dance lazily between their branches.
“It’s perfectly magical.” I shake my head at the splendor of it all.
Marshall takes a breath. “You gave life to those delicate creatures,” he says while holding out a finger and having one of the mystical winged butterflies land right on the tip. Each one of the winged creatures is extraordinarily large, and I watch breathless as their wings flutter with a personified sense of innocence.
Marshall steps in and warms me with his presence. “Jockstrap and Ms. Bishop birthed the dead version—a cheap paper imitation at best. But it was you who breathed life into them. You have the power to breathe life into your people, Skyla. Don’t let the enemy fool you. Only you have the ability to save the Nephilim.”
Logan wraps an arm around my waist—what’s left of it—and inadvertently starts off a contraction to end all contractions.
Oh God. Breathe. Don’t let on or Logan will shuttle me right on out of here. And there is no way I’m going anywhere. This is Celestra’s big day. Besides, this baby has two more weeks of cooking to do. She’s just trying to keep me on my toes, is all.
I quickly move out of Logan’s grasp and take Marshall by the hand once again, moving us deeper into the woods.
“Skyla!” a voice calls as a couple of familiar faces waves us over toward the corral. Nev and Ezrina.
Ezrina has her red hair wild and teased over her head, a white lab coat on, and a couple of bloody smears running down her side. Nev has donned a fedora with the glossy black plume of a raven sticking out of his hat.
“Ezrina,” I marvel, taking her in as my contraction begins to subside. Honestly, with Marshall latched to my side, I hardly feel a thing. There’s no way he’s getting rid of me tonight. “It’s nice to see you getting into it. The massacre getup is a hit.”
